


Tactile

by Annie17851



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is an angel; Dean can't sleep; Cas has telekinetic powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tactile

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel is an angel; Dean can't sleep; Cas has telekinetic powers.  
> AU season 9,just for the fact that Castiel is full angel in this fic.

TACTILE

 

Dean Winchester fully appreciates Castiel’s (angel of the Lord’s) Grace-fueled powers. The absolute strength of him, the fact that he can go anywhere, anytime, his ability to heal even the most mortal of wounds.

But, the telekinesis is definitely Dean’s favorite. It’s in the deep-night silence of the bunker that he appreciates it most.

The Mark on Dean’s arm drifts its’ uneasiness into the hunter’s very soul, his psyche, and besides having him constantly on the edge of losing his grip, of reaching out to tear something down, he doesn't sleep. Maybe only occasionally, when his body is actually so tired that even the thrall of the Blade can’t motivate him, will he drift off for an hour or so.

Castiel can do something about this, if nothing else. 

The first time Castiel helped Dean with this, he had heard the hunter tossing and turning, had stood outside Dean’s bedroom door and reached out with his Grace to soothe the jangled nerves. It happened more often than not, and night by night, Castiel used more and more of his Grace to calm the jitters that even the angel could feel. As time went on, Castiel expanded his Grace to help ease the soreness in overused muscles, especially if there was a particularly hard hunt that day. 

The first time Dean moaned in pleasure at the soothing touch of warm Grace on his body, Castiel froze, pulled his Grace back and turned to leave.

“Don’t stop, Cas.” The words whispered in the dark room were almost indistinct, but of course, the angel heard them. 

It became an unspoken arrangement between them. It was never mentioned in the light of day, but after any of those really strenuous hunts, when Dean would throw his newly-showered, lean body down onto his memory-foam mattress, to toss and turn fitfully, Castiel knew.

It was a terrible hunt this day. Both brothers had barely escaped with their lives and only made it out of the forest with Cas’s angelic help at the last minute. Dean is totally beat down, but the Mark, singing through his veins, won’t let him sleep. When he hears the flutter of the angel’s arrival, Dean calms down gratefully, rolls onto his back and rests his arms languidly above his head on the pillow. 

There’s never any night light, but Dean can still make out the darker shape of his angel in the blackness of the room. There are never any words spoken, they are not needed. 

Castiel stands mutely at the foot of Dean’s bed, eyes able to see in the dark, and he takes in the sight of the hunter, clad only in black boxer-briefs, 

Dean holds his breath in silent anticipation, because he knows what he is about to feel. Senses on a sharp edge, he hears the slight rustle of Cas’s coat as the angel raises a hand in the dark.

Cas always starts at the bottom, invisible, feather-light touches to the soles of Dean’s feet, tickling the sensitive skin there, raising goose bumps in his skin all the way to his chest and his heart jumps just the tiniest bit. Waiting for more. Waiting for the more he knows will come. 

Legs next, smooth firm brush of heat against achy muscles, and Dean can relax into the touch, wants Castiel to take his time, could stand to feel this way for hours, but all too soon the warmth moves on. Up. Caresses his inner thighs lazily and follows the line of his body up to slide across his hipbones. Dean’s breath quickens as a rush of need rips up his spine and his hips involuntarily thrust up into Castiel’s angelic touch. Doesn't really want Cas to take his time after all. He feels a smirk of reprimand in his mind, as Castiel commands patience. 

Fluid wash of heat across his abdomen and toward his ribs, moving silkily up his sides, soothing ribs that had been bruised in the melee today and Dean can’t ignore the sharp twist of need in his stomach, bites back a groan because it’s way too early in whatever this is to let the angel know how much he wants it. Wants him.

Fever-brush across his nipples, heated sparks dispersed at the speed of light to every nerve-ending in his body and his cock is aching now and he can’t help the “Cas” that moans out of him unbidden, can feel Cas’s promise of ‘soon’ in his head.

Unseen hands sweeping across his shoulders and grazing along the skin of his neck to his jawline, stroking along the line of scruff there, moving to cup his face, sweep slowly across his lips, then cool fingers sifting through his hair before they move back down to his shoulders. Travelling down his arms, and Dean always marvels, somewhere in the back of his distracted mind, that no matter how heated Cas’s touch feels on his skin, it is always cooler when the angel brushes across the Mark on his arm, balm to the dissonance Cain’s brand suffuses through him every minute. 

Down the outsides of his tired arms and then back up the insides, more heated brushes to his sensitized nipples and then finally moving back down his stomach, back to where Dean wants him. 

Slick slide of fire at the base of his cock and Dean has his hands twisted in the sheets and “Cas” comes out louder with a crack of desperate desire in his voice and patience doesn't exist in the universe anymore. Something like a soothing promise in his head and then a touch to the leaking tip of his cock and Dean is almost undone, doesn't know if he can even breathe just now, heart pounding erratically in his chest and then almost stopping, because his cock is now entirely sheathed in something that feels like the angel’s wings, tight and soft and so incredibly hot. And then they move. Dean is going to fly apart with need any second, panting in time with the tantalizing up-and-down on his oh-so-hard cock. His breath catches urgently in his lungs, and then Dean is coming and Dean is flying so high he will never be able to land. He gasps out his orgasm and hears his own name in his head over and over as his angel gentles him down, cleans him with a thought and calms the hunter’s breath in his lungs, infuses him with sleepy contentment. 

“Cas,” Dean mumbles drowsily. “Stay.”

But the almost not-sound of wings tells him Castiel has already gone, left him to sleep. 

They have never mentioned this in the light of day, but Dean will find Cas tomorrow and return the favor.


End file.
